Public Relations
by Rihays
Summary: The Doctor, the Master, Romana, Rassilon, and Ronnie Brooks walk down the street...of a couple worlds thrown together in the wake of war and treachery. But the Gallifreyans didn't just trade a Time War for new neighbors, and Rassilon didn't just set aside his goals because of a little inconvenience. Rated T for use.
1. The Way It Works

Note 1: I realize original characters are quite frowned upon, but with the Law & Order aspect, it cannot be entirely helped. Appearances are fleeting.

Note 2: This is a note about the world I am writing in. Basically, it takes place some years after "The End of Time". Gallifrey came through the Time Rift. Thanks to some clever maneuvering and clever plans and just plain cleverness on the part of the Doctor working with the Master (resentfully coerced into helping) the Dalek fleet was sealed back inside the Time Lock and Gallifrey was safely maneuvered into its own orbit around the sun, completely intact.

Needless to say, this came as quite a shock to the inhabitants of Sol III. Not only have they encountered alien life forms, but their entire planet has suddenly appeared in the sky. (Because of its proximity, Earth's seasons and tides have been dramatically affected.) Furthermore, the aliens look exactly like humans on the outside.

U.N.I.T. helped calm some of the fear on the part of world governments, but it took quite a while for humans to get used to the idea, especially as revelations about the aliens never seemed to cease. From learning of the two "sub-species" of the aliens to the differences between the two and what they could do. While the world governments extended an official welcome to the aliens, local welcome was limited, met with suspicion and even hostility.

Fast forward. Humans and Gallifreyans are living in an uneasy peace with tight regulations on who can come and go from each planet. The humans, having never needed an intergalactic immigration system, bumbles around with it. They don't want to be seen as unfriendly, but they want to appear strong. It fails miserably and most Gallifreyans can easily jump between planets. Meanwhile, Gallifrey keeps their system in a near-stranglehold with a waiting list nearly two years long.

Nevertheless, cultural exchange happens, especially the exchange of lives. An agreement was reached that if someone died or something happened, justice was dispensed based on the victim's race, regardless of who the perpetrator was.

In all of this, Time Lords are kept on a strict watch. Gallifreyan Time Laws still stood, with additional regulations prohibiting any more human passengers in Tardises. Regular Tardis inspections and filing flight plans are also included in the new laws. All of this is supervised by the Celestial Intervention Agency (CIA). This irritated the Time Lords and many left to pursue their own adventures. When the humans tried to restrict Tardises and other time travel use further, the Time Lords merely laughed.

The humans also pressed for the Gallifreyans' superior technology, but to no avail. They pressed for everything the Gallifreyans had, but the Gallifreyans remained stalwart and nothing was given. Commerce in and out of Gallifrey is little more than a trickle.

After a time, it comes to pass that Gallifreyans could get a job, own property, and live on Earth. However, Gallifreyan law prohibits the "changing of citizenship." It took much longer, but humans could do the same things on Gallifrey, though the entire resident-human population numbers about five hundred, all kept within five miles of the Capitol and kept under heavy watch.

As far as specific people:

Rassilon remains Lord President of Gallifrey, having become very, _very_ popular among the common Gallifreyans for his handling of their sudden new space-time accommodations. He is not, however, terribly popular with the Time Lords with his implementing of new Time Laws. He still dreams of taking Gallifrey into a purely-conscious era, though this dream had to be set aside in lieu of most unfortunate events.

Romana is head of the Gallifreyan Justice Department, overseeing all cross-cultural cases. She doesn't mind the humans as long as they stay at a distance. In person, she can be ruthless, called by her counterparts in U.N.I.T., "the Lawyer" (making fun of a Time Lord's Tardis name).

After having his body chemistry stabilized, the Master was locked up in the Gallifreyan Institute for the Dimensionally Insane, an asylum for former Time Lords who had been driven mad from too much time travel.

The Doctor saved Wilfred from the radiation and did not die or regenerate himself. He is named the official ambassador between Gallifrey and Earth, though he could hardly imagine a more droll job. He often slips away on day-adventures in his Type 40, Mark III Tardis. If he doesn't return on his own, his "supervisors" the CIA are often dispatched to tow him home.

When not trying to outwit his captors, he can usually be found in the officially ordained Gallifreyan Consulate only a few blocks from U.N.I.T. headquarters.

As mentioned before, the peace between Earth and Gallifrey is very uneasy. Instead of a Hollywood coexistence, and far cry from an equally Hollywood annihilation, the relationship between the two is a bit like old racial tensions after the American Civil War. In some areas, Gallifreyans were quite welcome and treated as equals or near-equals. In other places, a bit of barbed wire and a shotgun made a quick point. But in most places, Gallifreyans could walk freely, but could not expect a warm welcome or fair treatment from everyone.

Consulates like where the Doctor works are frequent targets of drive-by obscenities, graffiti, and an occasional mob…

* * *

"As you can see, the area has been taped off for three blocks in either direction as police work to round up suspects, perpetrators, and witnesses," the anchorwoman reported formally. "The estimated damage is about seventy-thousand pounds, or about twenty-three thousand pandaks, and the body count is up to fifteen."

"I told you it would come to this," Romana spat, standing next to the Doctor and surveying the damage.

The Consulate had been torched; if it wasn't made of brick, it would be little more than a pile of charred rubble on a barren lot. Spray cans and silly string mixed with shells and empty clips. The bodies had long since been taken away, but the chalk remained. Blood stained the pavement. Broken glass littered the sidewalk below windows where Molotov cocktails had been meticulously launched. There was more glass inside where rocks had been thrown.

"Humans," Romana scoffed. "They turn my stomachs."

"Oh, come now, they're not all that bad," the Doctor said. "Just…misdirected."

"Misdirected. Ha! Listen to you, a regular politician. Misdirected." She shook her head. "They are violent and cruel and so pitifully small-minded. And then their minds are opened to a universe that's larger than their petty differences and they can't handle that knowledge."

"Is Gallifrey so different? How often have the Chapters gone to war, hm? Aren't those petty differences of our own?"

"We were working to choose a President, not squabbling over strips of land or foolishly wasted natural resources. Or maybe you've spent too long away from the home you abandoned and have forgotten?"

"I didn't abandon Gallifrey, Romana. I just got lucky and escaped."

"And left us to die."

"And got a new perspective, watching everything from the outside. Do you think I didn't dream every night about dazzling silver leaves humming under twin suns? About the spires and ancient corridors?"

"I've heard this all before, Lord Doctor," Romana said dismissively, using his formal title. "Regardless of your feelings between home and Sol III, someone needs to be punished for this."

"I agree," a new voice said.

The Time Lords turned to see a middle-aged man approaching.

"Sorry, who are you?" the Doctor asked.

"Detective Sergeant Ronnie Brooks, at your service, sir. I'm afraid my partner is home sick with the flu."

"Tragic, to be sure," Romana said spitefully. "What do you want? Shouldn't you be out detecting or something?"

"I have been, ma'am."

"And? Have you arrested anyone?"

"There are men still working on that. However, I merely wished to inquire of the Ambassador. Are you hurt, sir?"

"No, thank you." The Doctor shot Romana a look. "Someone already came by and interviewed me."

"Thank you."

Romana stopped him before he could leave. "And you will let us know when you find anything." It wasn't a question.

"Of course, Lady Romana."

"That's _Lord_ Romana, _sir_."

"What?"

Romana was ready with a tart reply, but the Doctor stepped between them and put a hand on the detective's shoulder. "Why don't we walk and talk?" His tone and expression left no room for argument.

"My apologies, sir," Brooks sighed once they were out of earshot. "I still don't understand-"

"Don't worry about it; Romana's always been a bit spiteful. She couldn't keep Presidency longer than one hundred fifty years."

"And here ten years would seem significant."

"Yes…Anyway, calling a female Time Lord a Time Lady is considered an insult. You might as well kill someone yourself for as personal as she'll take it."

"I guess I forgot. They had a seminar on racial differences, and look how well it did me."

"Hm…Well, no human could hope to please Romana. Not many Gallifreyans can please her either. The best you can do is get a good lead on this case and turn it over to her so she can take care of it."

"And that will make her happy?"

"No, it'll just make her hate you a tiny bit less."

"I see."

"How about this? You work on this case, and leave Romana to me."

"I should like that very much, sir."

"Good man."

The Doctor clapped him on the back and left. Romana was right where he left her.

"And?" she demanded.

Seeing this would not be a productive conversation, he merely sighed and turned to go down the street where he'd parked the Tardis after escaping the mob.

"You can't expect them to solve this case so soon," he told her, spinning around and walking backwards.

"I can and I will," she informed him haughtily.

He turned back around. "If you're so worried, do some investigating on your own!"

"Maybe I will!" She snorted indignantly. "Maybe I will…"

* * *

"Well?" one cop asked as Brooks approached. "How did that go?"

"About as well as could expected." He accepted a cup of coffee and a donut.

"That well, huh?"

"No, just a tiny bit less than bad."

* * *

"They are insignificant," Rassilon said dismissively, taking a slow lap around the room. "They'll bumble around for a little while, rounding up…_suspects_ and—heh—_witnesses_ and find a few kids who threw a few rocks. Things got out of hand and…" He shrugged and sat down heavily. "The rest is history." He took a sip of tea. "What are you so worried about, Romana?"

"The kids could rat on us."

"A couple of sixteen year old children covered in ink and piercings, high on hallucinogenic fumes, and have nothing to their names, no personal accomplishments, are going to accuse the highest authority on Gallifrey of ordering a mob at their own Consulate. Do you honestly think _anyone_ would buy that? And, because of the Criminal Origins Act, we can deal with them and make it so they are never believed by anyone."

"What about Lord Doctor? Of all the Consulates, did it really have to be his?"

"Of course it did. He's spent so much time with the humans, he's practically one of them. They trust him, he trusts them. He'll follow the investigation, see how well it's going, and accept whatever they find."

"You know he won't just sit back and watch."

"Romana-"

"He has a tendency to meddle, Lord President. You know that. You also know that he will go to great lengths to uncover any investigation, any conspiracy. And when he finds out-"

Rassilon pounded his fist on the table, tipping over the tea. "Enough!" He scowled and used a cloth to wipe up the mess. "We will deal with the Doctor if necessary. There is nothing he can find that we haven't planted to be found."

"Fine. But what about the unrest here at home? You know at least the Gallifreyans will be calling for retaliation. The Time Lords may jump in to defend one of their own."

"The Lord Doctor was never very popular with the Time Lords, not in school, not out of school, not anywhere. And given his role in the Time War, he is hardly in a position of leverage. His ambassadorship was merely to give the humans a measure of security, giving them someone they'd worked with in the past."

"But how will we quell-?"

"As I recall, you are head of the Justice Department, not Relations."

"We don't have a Relations Department."

"Of course we do. It's me. Now then, leave the Lord Doctor and the unrest to me. You just keep an eye on the investigation, have the CIA at the ready, and take over as soon as possible."

"But-"

"You are dismissed, Lord Romana."

She huffed, but there was nothing to be done. "Of course, Lord President."

And she left.


	2. Merriam, Webster, Kyle, and Jamie

"You drag me in here to see this?" Brooks wondered disbelievingly later that morning. "This is the best you can do? As big as the riot was, the best you can turn up is some half-out drug addict?"

"We're already working on his other crimes," Wes Layton told him. "But he was definitely at the Consulate." He cut off Brooks as he tried to speak. "It's not what you were hoping for; I get that. You don't need to get a minute-by-minute account. A lead, a name will do. Just get it done."

"Right."

The kid at the table was about nineteen, his face dotted with piercings and tattoos, hair a remnant of Kiss, mascara like, like, well it was terrible. His skin was pallid, almost white, a stark contrast to his leather vest and black jeans. It was like this kid walked out of the 80s or something. He chewed a fingernail, then his lip, back to the fingernail. His feet tapped nervously on the floor and he looked around, seeing nothing really. He jumped when Brooks sat down near him.

"I'd offer you coffee, but I don't think it would help any," he said conversationally.

"Mhm, maybe not."

"What's your name, son?"

"Kyle."

"What were you doing at the Consulate this morning, Kyle?"

"Um…some friends and I got together and…thought it'd be fun to torch the building. You know, see what they'd do."

"By 'they,' you mean the Gallifreyans."

"Yeah."

"What were you expecting?"

"I dunno. I-I don't remember a lot about it."

"When did the shooting start?"

"Toward the end."

"Did you see who started?"

"No; I was at the back, just screamin' you know? The shots came from up toward the front."

"How did the mob start?"

"Uh…me and some friends just got together and started shouting, and throwing small rocks to get their attention. Some people just came and came and then…" Kyle made a gun motion with his hand. "After that, we scattered but the guys just kept shooting."

"Guys? They were male."

"Well, I don't know. I just assume…"

"All right, Kyle. Can you give us any names or leads as to where we might find others who were there? Maybe they were closer to the action."

"I guess. Um…I can't give you any names, though."

"Why not?"

"Well, I mean, they're my pals, y'know."

"I'm only asking for witnesses to the riot. Whatever problems you may have, they won't matter unless they directly relate to this case."

Kyle still squirmed.

"One name."

"Sam. He was there."

"Oh? And where is Sam now?"

"I dunno. He might be at his crash pad or out on the streets. We don't really hang out or anything, just kinda meet."

"Does he have a favorite street? A territory? Anything?"

"I don't know. Like I said, we just kinda meet. I dunno his normal day."

"And you call this man your friend."

"Closest thing to a friend you can have on the streets, y'know?"

"Right. Is Sam known around anywhere? Does he have a street name?"

"Just Sam."

Brooks sighed and tapped irritably on the lid of the coffee cup. Finally he stood and left. Layton gave him a look which he returned.

"I told you, nothing," Brooks said. "Get this kid a coffee or some tranquilizers or something and see what you can do for him." He started to leave.

"Always so sentimental, aren't you?"

The detective paused, then kept walking.

* * *

"Back so soon?" the Doctor wondered without looking up. "What, Rassilon wouldn't declare war?"

"A dangerous thing, to be up here in a fire-scarred building," Romana said, evading the question.

Indeed, the Doctor had returned to his designated office on the third floor of the Consulate. Part of the floor was gone and so was part of the ceiling, but he rifled through the charred desk to see if anything could be salvaged. So far, only parts of documents and bits of paper and information had survived amid much ash.

"Yeah, but you've never been one to shy away from danger, have you?" the Doctor retorted, grinning while he sifted through more ash and picked out a few scraps.

"What do you hope to find in there? It's not like the documents can't be recovered on a computer."

He shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. There's just something surreal about walking into a room you once knew so well that's been altered so dramatically."

"Like seeing a friend after so many centuries but it's like meeting a stranger."

"I didn't abandon Gallifrey, Romana."

"That's not what I said."

"But that's what you implied."

"We're speaking English, Lord Doctor. The only 'implications' or 'subtext' here is one you make up yourself. Unless you would rather we spoke Old High, where no words are left to chance."

"Maybe we should; that way we understand each other."

She scoffed and crossed the room to the blown-out window. "Since when did you get to be so arrogant?"

"Since when have you been so eager for war?"

She whirled. "Why do you defend them?! This was a clear act of war!"

"A couple of kids came out shouting and throwing small rocks, easy enough for me to ignore, but attracting the wrong kind of attention."

"Terrorists use any excuse."

"Oh, so they're terrorists now?"

"Fifteen people are _dead_, Lord Doctor, including three Gallifreyans and one Time Lord. One of our own kind, Doctor! He was the Warden, thousands of years old, far beyond his adventuring days, his final incarnation dying. He begged to be assigned here because he believed in you, Doctor! Does his death mean nothing to you?"

The Doctor slapped his palm on the table. "Of course it does, Romana! I knew the Warden well. He told me himself how he believed in me. He also told me he believed in peace between us and the humans. Granted, it came as more of a master-slave relationship, but it was peace." He cut her off before she could go on and moved around the desk. "Gallifrey just escaped the worst war the universe has ever known, and ever will know." He approached and laid his hands on her shoulder. "Why should you be so eager to pick a fight with these lesser beings?"

Romana glared at him. "It's like the Warden said, a master-slave relationship."

He let his arms drop and she pushed past him to leave. Grabbing the paper scraps, the Doctor headed after her, carefully picking his way down the steps and outside.

"Romana!" He jogged down the sidewalk after her. The area was still taped off, but hardly a problem to a Time Lord. "Romana, please!" He caught up to her and started to walk in stride. "What is it? What's going on? Should I talk to Rassilon?"

"And what would you say, hm, _Lord Doctor?_ We both know he hasn't been right in the head for a long time, ever since the Matrix. And you were there in the War, even for a little while. You know what he was planning."

"So he's making another attempt at pure consciousness?"

Romana frowned and sighed. "I don't know. He doesn't tell me much. And he won't tell you anything either."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm told I am quite the charmer."

"However much charm you hold for the humans, it won't work on him. And he doesn't care much for you, Doctor. If you hadn't gotten Gallifrey into a steady orbit and settled all that nonsense out, he would consider you a traitor and possibly even a war criminal. Actually, in his mind, you are a war criminal for time-locking us in the first place."

"I had to."

"Right, well. Explain that to him, then."

"Maybe I will."

"Oh, please. You'd be lucky to schedule an audience with him in the next decade."

"Then maybe I won't schedule an audience."

"You can't just walk in; he's more than paranoid. And before you even suggest it, he's got everything locked down so even his own Tardis can't get in or out."

"Well if it can't get in, how can it cannot get out?"

Romana gave him a look. "He carries it. You know what I mean. Now then, I have things to do, Lord Doctor."

"Heading back to the Justice Department?"

"Oh believe me, Doctor, as soon as the humans have located the terrorists, we'll waste no time at all in dispensing the Justice of the Time Lords. You ought to know it well, Valeyard."

The Doctor gritted his teeth and stopped. Romana kept walking and eventually disappeared down another street. A moment later, he thrust his hands in his pockets and kept walking. He had no real destination, just walking.

* * *

His watch read four in the afternoon when he finally sat down for a good sandwich at a sidewalk eatery. The signs on some of the shops amused him. Some welcomed all species, some humans and Gallifreyans only, some humans and Time Lords only, others where only humans were allowed. What was this, 1930s Germany? Civil Rights Movement? Everyone's equal but some are more equal? Although, he had heard of the disdain the Gallifreyans, especially the Time Lords, held for humans and other "lesser beings."

Well, he figured as he took a sip of coffee, theirs was a continually-evolving relationship. Mistrust was bound to be part of it in the beginning. Although the Gallifreyans' concept of time was a little hard to fathom sometimes. They operated on "all-time" and "no-time" and somehow it made sense to them.

But he found he could think better on a full stomach. Just as he took his first bite, he saw the Doctor turn the corner and walk in his direction. Mouth still full, he managed to flag him down.

"Ah, Doctor!" he said, swallowing. "Glad you came by!"

"Detective Brooks," the Time Lord acknowledged. "What news?"

"We managed to apprehend one of the boys part of the original mob, well, group of kids."

"And?"

"Frankly, they're all crack-heads, the lot of 'em. But hardly what you might call rioters or terrorists. He says they just wanted to provoke a reaction, see what you'd do. Some people showed up, and then more, and pretty soon…" He made a gun-motion with his hand. "But the kid we caught, he's not capable of such a thing. He's not coordinated enough to do such a thing."

"Does this 'kid' have a name?"

"Kyle. He pointed us to a buddy of his he calls Sam, but…there's nothing too concrete to go on."

"Where is Kyle now?"

"This morning he was at the station, but I'm sure the Inspector is going to pursue other petty crimes on his block. Why?"

"How lucid was he?"

"He could form complete thoughts, but his memory was pretty bad, or so he said."

"Did he say this or imply it?"

That was another thing about the Gallifreyans, always so darn specific, having the most extreme case of a love-hate relationship with implied meanings and literal speech.

"He kept saying 'I don't remember' to my questions, so I would say he told me so," Brooks said.

The Doctor shook his head and sighed. "Oh, you humans and your implications. And your flat languages. How do you manage?"

"We're here today, aren't we?"

"Yeah, just barely." He leaned back in his chair. "I'd like to speak to Kyle."

"What for? He doesn't know anything."

"What he says, what he means, and what he remembers are very different things. His memory may be a bit muddled, but I don't need it to be perfect, just good enough."

"What are you suggesting? I thought your telepathic…memory…_thing_ was forbidden under an article of the Criminal Origins Act?"

"Article VI, section fourteen, subsection twelve, paragraph one," the Doctor recited. " 'No Gallifreyan shall perform a memory-meld upon a human being.' Paraphrasing, of course. And it goes on about how even consensual melds may not be performed. However, Article IX, section twenty-seven, subsection three, paragraph three states that memory-melds may be used on victims, human and Gallifreyan, in comatose or other unresponsive states where recovery is unlikely or not at all, in order to pursue the perpetrator."

"My God, man, did you memorize it?"

"I helped write it."

Brooks frowned. "Except Kyle isn't in a coma or unresponsive state."

"No, but he is an addict."

"What are you-?" His jaw dropped. "Doctor! You aren't actually suggesting we dope the kid up just so you can do this lunatic idea, are you?!"

"Not a lot, just enough that he can't respond normally to commands."

"This coming from a Time Lord called the Doctor."

"I'm not a Doctor of medicine, Detective. And this could save everyone a lot of time and resources."

"He says he was at the back of the crowd and the shooting started in the front, and he doesn't remember."

The Doctor stood. "Detective, do you know why Gallifreyans hate every other language in the universe? It's because they're not structured. Old High Gallifreyan was structured so that every word encompassed what a man _said_ happened, what he _meant_ happened, and what he _remembers_ happening. Even Old Low, Omegabet, and Circular are structured similarly to this. Other languages, especially English, are just too…ambiguous."

"Then I shall contact Oxford and Merriam and Webster and announce your plan to re-construct the English language."

"Oh, don't bother. I already tried. Oxford drove me out, and Merriam and Webster had a fit. So I tried to go back even farther to the Anglo-Saxon invasion. Unfortunately, they thought I was a Celtic warrior and nearly got my head chopped off. Did meet a nice boy named Jamie, though. I gave up after that, knowing it could never be."

Brooks was speechless.

The Doctor grinned. "Now then, where did you say Kyle is?"


	3. The Doctor and Rassilon

"Kyle?" Brooks asked.

Per a called-in favor, Kyle was given the tiniest whiff of a special drug designed to give the effects of being high, but without catering to the neural addiction. He now sat in the corner of a little room, looking almost asleep.

"Kyle?" Brooks repeated.

Kyle made an animal-like moaning sound but did not turn to look at them until he and the Doctor were just in front of him, and even then it was clear he wasn't really _there._

"Are you sure about this, Doctor?" the detective wondered warily.

"Absolutely," the Doctor replied, putting on his glasses, kneeling in front of Kyle and reaching for him. "And if it comes to it, this all comes down on me."

"Get to it, then. I called in a few favors and my guys will buy us as much time as they can, but they can only deter the Inspector; they can't say 'no' to him, though." Brooks shifted uneasily and glanced at the door.

"This won't take long." He put his hands on the sides of Kyle's face. "Kyle, I know you can't understand me, but I am still obligated to tell you that anything you do not want me to see, just imagine a door and I won't look. I promise. Now then…"

* * *

It was almost like a mind-meld from Star Trek, Brooks thought as he watched the Doctor. Except he used two hands instead of one. And, more or less, all fingers.

"Well? Can you identify our culprit?" he asked a minute or two later.

It was a moment before the Doctor opened his eyes and stood. His expression did nothing to ease the detective's fears.

"Did you find Sam? Or anyone from the riot?"

"You're looking for answers, Detective, and I'm afraid we're walking away with only more questions," the Doctor reported, exiting the room with Brooks hard on his heels. "But this has escalated into more than just a few disgruntled human boys."

"You're saying there are Gallifreyans involved?"

"The drugs were administered to him. Why? To weaken his defenses, to relax his brain. I advised him to imagine a door if there was anything he wanted to keep hidden. Why? Because it's the law. But Kyle isn't lucid enough to do such a thing. I found doors in his mind, Detective. Simple doors, average doors, the kinds of doors humans would think to erect. But they shouldn't be there in his mind. Someone else put them there. And they're not only keeping me out, but they're hiding the memories from Kyle as well. He doesn't remember anything. Well, that's just fine, he's an addict. But addicts don't build doors!"

"If the doors are so simple, can't you just break them down?"

"A gentleman would not break down a door, sir. But given the circumstances, believe me, I tried. But they're too strong, put in place by someone with incredible telepathic abilities far superior to my own. They're crafted very well, formed like the normal human mental doors, placed in meticulous spots, knowing a gentleman would not go snooping, but reinforced against anyone who would still try."

"So there are Gallifreyans involved."

The Doctor gave him a look. "Are you thick, human? Yes, there are Gallifreyans involved! Worse, there are other Time Lords involved!"

"So who is more powerful than you…about…what you said?"

The Doctor frowned. "Not very many, that much is certain. But discovering _who_ isn't quite as important as _why_. Why block his memories? Why choose him? Why attack the Consulate, _my_ Consulate?" He huffed. "I don't like this, Brooks, I really don't."

* * *

"You said it was important," Romana said irritably. "So tell me why I had to cancel my next meeting for the likes of you."

The agent bowed humbly. "Lord Romana, the detective and the Lord Doctor were seen together at a sidewalk café at approximately four in the afternoon, local time. They left the café together and drove to the station where our mole reports the human male was given drugs to relax his brain while the Doctor melded with him."

"Still exploiting loopholes, Lord Doctor," Romana muttered. "Why tell me this, and not the Lord President?"

"We have, my lord. He has sent for you immediately."

* * *

"I told you he would start meddling," Romana hissed. "We have to assume he's found the doors. No, I _know_ he's found them. And now nothing will be able to stop him from his own full investigation!"

"In which he will find nothing," Rassilon told her concisely.

"And what if he does?"

"He won't."

"So why did you call me here?"

"To ease your fears."

"Likely."

Rassilon sighed. "Romana, he will find nothing as long as we stick to the story, and the story is that which the police uncover. They turn over the culprits to you, and it all goes away." He gave her a look. "It _all_ goes away."

"The mole reported that the detective on the scene was with him, helped him. If he helps the Doctor-"

"If the detective decides to meddle, the things they _might_ uncover are too big and complex for the human's mind to comprehend. Besides, he can do nothing without the approval of his superiors."

"Lord President-"

"The first thing the Doctor will do is attempt to gain an audience with me. I will allow it and throw him off the trail."

"How will that work? You've always been suspicious of each other."

"It didn't help that you told him I considered him a war criminal."

"It was necessary. If all cards are on the table, as the humans say, then it will be easier to rectify the situation. Neither one of you trusts the other, and once that is out of the way, you can talk freely. Until you bring out your trump card, that is, throwing him off."

Rassilon leaned back in his seat. "You truly are the Doctor's intellectual equal."

Romana gave him a look. "Rassilon, I think the Doctor may find a loose thread in our carefully woven rug."

* * *

"What do you mean, you have to go?" Brooks asked as he followed the Doctor down the street.

"I need to speak to Rassilon," the Doctor said. "He may know what's going on."

Of course he didn't voice his real fear that Rassilon may be the cause of what was going on. Rassilon was certainly mad—Romana didn't need to tell him that—but some Time Lords were gifted with incredible patience.

"Can I help at all?" the detective wondered.

The Doctor fished out his Tardis key. "Just make sure no one interferes in this case."

"I'll do my best."

"Oh, you humans," the Doctor chuckled as he stepped inside. "Always so charming."

* * *

The Doctor was forced to park the Tardis a good distance away from the spire where Rassilon's office was located and walk the whole distance. At the base of the Spire, a couple CIA agents stopped him.

"Well, Lord Doctor, it seems you beat us to the punch," one taunted. The Doctor recognized one of the agents who frequented "rescue" missions when he took mini-vacations. "We were just about to send for you. The Lord President expected your arrival and has made a special appointment just for you. He will see you in his office."

They gave him an escort all the way to the top, but remained outside the office as Rassilon motioned him in. The Lord President stood by the glass doors leading out to a balcony.

"I was just on my way to see you, Rassilon, but it seems you already knew that," the Doctor said nonchalantly, slipping his hands in his pockets and casually moseying about the room.

"I thought you might have some questions for me," the Lord President suggested, equally as casually.

"Oh? About what?"

"The attack on your Consulate."

"Why would I have questions for you, unless you know something about what happened?" The Doctor toyed with something on the desk. "Do you know something about what happened, _Lord President?"_

"I do, in fact." Pause. "I ordered it." He noted the Doctor's expression, just the right amount of surprise to be rendered speechless, but not enough that it came as a total shock. Rassilon moved away from the doors. "Yes, I ordered the attack. Not the killing, mind you, just the attack itself."

The Doctor straightened and folded his arms. "Why?"

"To diffuse growing tension. It's like a controlled release of water from a dam. The tension between us and the humans has gotten worse lately, but hasn't come to a full head. A failed, staged attack and swift clean-up sends the message that we are prepared for whatever comes. And, for the groups that were waiting for the tension to come to a head have been tripped up early; they'll be scrambling, trying to maintain order amongst themselves."

"How do you know they won't just start attacking early?" the Doctor challenged hotly.

"Then nothing has changed but the time, but we know all about that."

"Rassilon-"

_"Lord Doctor,_ this was my decision. And it will help us in the long-run."

"Help us do what, exactly?"

Rassilon raised his brows and made a gesture with his hands. "Maintain the peace, of course."

"Don't lie to me, Rassilon. I was there in the Time War; I knew your ambitions. I doubt they've changed in only a few years."

"You abandoned us in the Time War, Doctor. You sealed us into a fate that would never—_ever—end._ The only reason I don't label you a war criminal and strip you of your regenerations is _because_ of your actions _here_, to save the home planet and deliver it into this solar system!"

The Doctor approached, pointing his deadly finger. "I had a mind not to save you, Rassilon. I thought—just for a moment, I thought about sending you back into that hell, and sealing you all in forever."

"And what stopped you?"

"I thought maybe if I could deliver Gallifrey out of the War and into a place and time of peace, that things would calm down and you would see reason. Never mind these lesser beings; we can deal with them."

"And that's what I'm doing. Dealing with them."

"No ulterior motives?"

"None. Just trying to avoid a war."

"If I believed that, I might just have to take your job."

Rassilon put an arm around the Doctor and guided him to the door. "And perhaps we're both just victims of our frontal lobes and can't see the obvious. Even geniuses have brain malfunctions sometimes." He stood in the doorway and the Doctor turned to face him in the corridor. "And for the record, Lord Doctor, if you _don't_ believe me, I may not label you a war criminal, but I will label you insane and have you locked up in the Asylum, indefinitely."

He slammed the door.

The Doctor blinked and, when no CIA escort came, started down the hall. He continued through the building unopposed. When he got to the doors, the agents merely snickered but did nothing to provoke him.

He stopped about half a mile from the Tardis, in an open square. He looked up at the burnt orange sky and breathed in the air. He did this at least once per visit, always making sure to take in as much of home as possible. When he'd finally seen Gallifrey in the sky, in proper orbit, his hearts nearly burst with joy and sadness and love.

Well, he would get no straight answers from Rassilon, that much was clear, not unless he wanted to end up in the Asylum.

The Asylum…of course! With a grin on his face, he turned away from the path to the Tardis and bounded off.


	4. The Inmate

The Asylum was run by the CIA. Only full Time Lords were allowed beyond the front door, and, war criminal or not, the Doctor was a full Time Lord. He was admitted into the lower levels and left there. Security cameras dotted the ceiling, covering every angle, but no guards were actually around. The Asylum was built like a Tardis in terms of security, only things permitted to get in got in, and only things permitted to get out got out.

He trekked to the lower levels in an eerie silence. He knew the iron cells he passed were occupied, but the sound-screening was even more unnerving that if they'd let the cries of madness echo in the halls.

Finally, in the deepest, darkest part of the Asylum, where only one cell sat under a flickering light, he stopped. Each cell door had a small panel next to it. The Doctor put his hand on the panel to request access which was promptly given. The door opened to a two-part cell. His part was merely a small corner with a chair and table sat between the sections. No papers or cards could be passed through without approval from the CIA, but that was not this kind of visit.

"Have you seen this latest issue of _Home and TARDIS?"_ the inmate scoffed. "I swear, it's more advertisements than articles these days."

"That's what happens when you make a magazine that's bigger on the inside and can hold an infinite number of little advertisements," the Doctor said, standing at the near-invisible barrier and shoving his hands in his pockets. "But that's not why I'm here."

"No, I didn't think so." He sat up from where he'd been lounging on the couch and slapped the magazine on the floor, sending dozens of adverts and coupons skittering across the floor. "You never come around just to say hello. In fact, you've never come around since they stabilized my biochemistry and locked me in here."

"And if I'm right, I'm the only visitor you've ever had anyway for the past ten or so years."

"You say that like you're expecting me to contradict you."

"Have you had any other visitors?"

He leaned back on the couch. "Like who, exactly? The CIA brings me magazines." He rolled his eyes. "_When I remind them._ But if you mean anyone from the outside, then hardly. The physicians want nothing more to do with me; Rassilon declared me an enemy of Gallifrey and locked me in here. He doesn't execute me simply because I helped you settle the planet into orbit."

"He said as much about me."

"I can imagine. And Romana? Well, I don't think we need any words to describe that. But, no. No one comes to see me, Doctor. Not the Lord President or any Time Lords, and no regular Gallifreyans. Not a one."

The Doctor folded his arms and leaned against a wall. "How do you get your news, then? Does the CIA bring you newspapers?"

"Like I said, only when I remind them."

"You have the latest _Home and TARDIS_, though."

"I'm only allowed one at a time. They don't want us getting _creative."_

"So you're not aware of the attack?"

He leaned forward, listening intently. "No? What attack? What have I missed?"

"My Consulate was attacked and torched earlier an Earth morning. I just spoke to Rassilon and he says he ordered it."

"Well, there you go."

"He says he was trying to diffuse tension, like slowly leaking water out of a dam before it bursts."

"And you're here to borrow my genius to figure out his real motives."

"Something like that."

"Oh, it just burns you to ask for my help, doesn't it, _Doctor?"_

"Will you help me?"

He leaned back again. "What's in it for me? After all, you're going after the Lord _President._ You can't do that without risking everything; this is all or nothing. If you lose, he'll rip your remaining regenerations right out of you."

"Never stopped you."

"Very true. But if you win, you shift the entire balance of power, especially when it comes to our relations with Sol III."

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want. I want out."

"I can't do that."

"Oh, but you're the Doctor. You've gotten out of tighter situations than a meager Asylum. You can do it, I know you can."

"Physically, I can do it. But I can't let you loose on Earth or even home on Gallifrey. You've caused far too much trouble. This Asylum is the only place to keep you."

He stomped his feet. "And what kind of existence is that? To live out my years reading back issues of _Home and TARDIS_?!" He kicked the magazine, sending more leaflets flying. He stood and walked to the barrier. "Even you would not be so cruel, Doctor."

"I can do nothing else. Unless there is something else, I guess I'll have to do this on my own."

He turned to leave, but then the inmate sighed. "There is something else."

"What?"

"Come here and I'll tell you."

Reluctantly, the Doctor returned to the barrier. "All right, what is it?"

"Don't speak English," the inmate hissed. "And don't speak Modern. You do still remember Old High, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Good. I do know something about what happened. And in return for it, I ask only one thing."

"What is it?"

"Just say my name."

He was narcissistic, that was certain. The Doctor nodded and took a step back. "I'm sorry for your lot, Koschei."

"I'm flattered you remember those bygone days, Theta Sigma."

"Well, that's a name I've not heard in a couple centuries."

"Indeed. Now then, I mean it this time: Say my name."

The Doctor shifted uneasily. "Very well, Lord Master."

"Oh, you even used my title," the Master said in Old High Gallifreyan. "Things must be really desperate out there."

"What do you know?"

"About a year ago, Rassilon came to me. He asked what I thought of Sol III and its inhabitants. I told him. He then wanted to know what I thought about becoming a being of pure consciousness, like what he'd been planning toward the end of the War. And I told him."

"I knew he wouldn't give up so easily," the Doctor murmured.

"No, he wouldn't. Anyway, he told me he thought the humans would become a liability if he announced his plans. So he wanted to know what the best way would be to provoke the humans into either surrendering everything to us or destroying themselves."

"So you told him to attack the Consulate."

"I told him if the humans did something stupid to us, like _for instance_ an attack on a diplomat, we could threaten war. Then either the humans would bow to our superiority or else enter into a war they are sure to lose. Then Rassilon got real quiet, then he muttered to himself for a minute. He told me if I told anyone of our meeting, he would publicly execute me. He hasn't been back since."

"But why? Why does he care about the humans if his plans for pure consciousness could destroy the universe?"

"I don't know. You tell me. And when you're about to hang, I was never part of this."

"You don't really expect that."

"No, I don't. You're clever enough to go up against Rassilon. Not as genius as me, of course, but good enough for Rassilon."

"Always the flatterer."

"Though my request still stands."

"I can't let you out."

"No, but when you're standing over Rassilon, before you kill him, don't. I want him."

"I will not kill him, nor will you."

"Kill him? No, I don't want to kill him. I want him to make the drums stop."

The Doctor softened. "You still hear them."

"They stabilized my body but Rassilon ordered them not to help my mind." The Master put his hands on the barrier. "Every day, every hour, they're going. No sleep, no rest, no relaxing on the couch sifting through leaflet advertisements." He closed his eyes and whispered, "The drums, the drums, they're always pounding."

The Doctor put his hands in his pockets and gave the Master a sympathetic look as he walked toward the door. He looked back as he put his hand on the inside panel. "I'll see what I can do about that."

"Yes, please, Doctor. Without the drums, without this noise, I can be good. I know I can."

The door opened and the Doctor stepped out, leaving the Master alone again in his prison.

* * *

The Tardis door opened just as the phone started ringing. He dashed up to the console and, with a dramatic spin, answered it.

"Hello, you've reached the Doctor. Please leave a message," he said jokingly.

"Doctor, this is Detective Brooks! I-"

"Oh, Detective, hello! How are you?"

"I thought this was an answering machine."

"Oh, it's just something I do when I want to listen and not engage in conversation. What's on your mind, Detective?"

"Something's happened to Kyle. I left to get a donut, and when I returned, he'd passed out and was blue. At the hospital, they said he'd overdosed. I swear, Doctor, I didn't order any more than what you prescribed. And all of my men deny giving him more. Security cameras show nothing."

"All right, what hospital is he in?"

Even as the detective told him, he was dematerializing. A moment later he stepped out of a storage closet and into a rather deserted hall. He stopped a nurse walking in the opposite direction.

"You, what's your name?"

"Rory, Rory Williams."

"Well, Rory Rory Williams, where can I find Detective Brooks? He came in with a young man suffering from a drug overdose."

"Oh, yes, that's where I'm heading now. If you'll come with me."

They hurried to the designated room. Detective Brooks was at Kyle's bedside. The young man looked terribly sick, but not on the point of death. While the nurse did his thing, the Doctor went to Kyle's side.

"Kyle, how are you? Feeling better?"

Kyle took a breath but only nodded weakly.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I already asked him, Doctor; he doesn't remember," Detective Brooks said. "Did you find out anything?"

"Yes, and I don't like it."

"Well?"

"Sorry, we can't have prying ears."

The nurse, Rory, stopped for a split-second what he was doing, and continued, hurrying and flushing red. The Detective regarded the Doctor for a moment, then gestured to step out into the hall. Another nurse passed by before the men spoke.

"Rassilon ordered the hit on the Consulate," the Doctor hissed.

"The Lord President of Gallifrey?" Brooks asked.

"Unless you know of another, yes."

"Why?"

The Doctor pursed his lips, wondering how much to tell the detective. After a moment, he admitted the Master was right; this was all or nothing. "Toward the end of the Last Great Time War, Rassilon had found a way to shed flesh and become pure consciousness. Understand that the general mentality of Gallifreyans, and especially Time Lords, is that incarnation is insulting. We're so much better and we could be so much more if we didn't have these restrictive bodies. Rassilon figured out a way to do that."

"So? If you have the technology…"

"Detective, the War drove every Gallifreyan to madness of some sort. That's primarily why our relations were not so well-received as they might have been pre-War. Rassilon wanted so badly to change form that he would destroy the universe to do it. I was lucky enough to escape the War and recover mentally, even a bit. Everyone else is slow to come around, as you've no doubt seen. Detective, we're an entire _culture_ of PTSD victims. But Rassilon…he's gone far beyond that. He knows what he wants and will destroy everything to get it."

"How does attacking the Consulate help him?"

The Doctor was briefly surprised at the detective, seeming to brush off the whole revelation. Nevertheless, he replied, "I don't know, and it's no coincidence that he ordered my Consulate the one to be attacked."

"What are you going to do?"

"Go back there, see if I can dig something up."

"Go back…to the Consulate?"

"Yes. I don't know why, but I think something might be waiting for me there."

* * *

"You summoned us, Lord President?" the CIA agent said humbly.

"Yes," Rassilon mused. "Return to the Doctor's Consulate. We don't need him doing any more digging. If he returns, make sure you send a very clear warning about what will happen if he continues this…escapade."

"Of course, Lord President."


	5. Consulate and the CIA

Life had returned to normal the following day around the Consulate as people scurried up and down the street and sidewalks. The little café where he'd had lunch more than once was slowly regaining its usual customers. The clothier down the street had turned its sign to "Open" just a few hours ago. But the Consulate was like a hideous black mark on the street. The police had collected everything they could on the ground, though the charred building itself was still taped off, deemed hazardous. But this did not hinder the Doctor as he casually stepped over the tape and let himself inside.

A few places in the ceiling had collapsed, but the stairs were still pretty sturdy, only a few creaks and groans. He stepped through the very top step, but otherwise proceeded to his office unhindered. It was as he'd left it that morning, with a few scraps of paper miraculously spared. Checking each step so he didn't take the fast way to the second floor, he crossed the room to his desk.

Nothing of real significance remained as he laid each piece out so he could view all of them at once. A few numbers, some words—some in English, some in various forms of Gallifreyan. He saw part of his signature and part of someone else's signature.

He let out a breath. What had he hoped to find by coming here? A full letter penned and signed by Rassilon detailing each step in this mad scheme? He frowned and dared lean against the wall, or its blackened remains, anyway. He was missing something, some big piece of this puzzle was staring him right in the face and he couldn't see it. Rassilon was right about one thing, even geniuses have brain malfunctions. Except they came at the worst possible moments.

Rassilon's goal was to turn Gallifrey into a race of pure consciousness and damn the rest of the universe. He sets it aside to deal with being pulled out of their ancestral space-time and having new neighbors. Or does he? Many Earth years later, tensions are still high and Rassilon orders a hit on one of their own Consulates. But he doesn't use professionals; instead he recruits kids, addicts, people with nothing to lose. Why? Makes it easier for Romana to extradite them to be dealt with in Gallifreyan courts. Then what? The humans declare a foolish war and Rassilon has them exterminated? Or do they surrender and allow the Gallifreyans to rule them? But if they became pure consciousness, the humans wouldn't matter one way or the other. Oh, what was he missing?!

His thoughts were interrupted by the creaking of stairs and four CIA agents appeared in the room. He knew at least three of them; the fourth looked like a new recruit.

"I haven't gone anywhere," the Doctor told them. "And I wasn't really planning to either, unless Rassilon sent you to keep me from going anywhere."

"That's exactly why we're here, Lord Doctor," the lead agent said. "The Lord President thought you might return. He also said that if you proceed with this foolish investigation, we have the authority to…_sternly_ warn you about what will happen."

"Oh?" The Doctor gave them a look and walked slowly toward them. "See, he told me that this was all an effort to diffuse human-Gallifreyan tension, to prevent the chaos of another war." Another look. "So what could I possibly be investigating, hm? And if I'm not investigating anything, then what are you here to warn me about?"

"Abandon this futile mission, Lord Doctor!" the agent commanded. "I am going to ask you only once to leave this room and this building, and let us take care of everything."

The Doctor was now only about a foot away from the lead agent. "And if I don't comply?"

"Then-" The agent pulled a gun from its holster. "-we'll have to make you, one way or the other."

The Doctor's expression turned a special sort of expression, flat, sad, old even, but with a clear undertone of hostility. "I don't like guns, Agent. They make me nervous. But you know what I don't like even more?"

"Indulge me."

"You."

In one swift motion, he knocked the gun aside, blocked the agent's arm and slipped away as another agent's gun went off. He drove an elbow into the ribs of the new recruit who was momentarily frozen and unsure what to do. The recruit went down and the Doctor kicked his gun away, narrowly dodging another shot. He danced away, heading for the stairs, but was pulled back by four strong hands. He went limp and was dragged over to a wall and held there. The lead agent stood across the room, almost like a firing squad.

"You should have left when you had the chance, Lord Doctor," he said calmly. "This could have been avoided."

"Would you really shoot me?" the Doctor wondered.

"Yes, I would." The agent leveled the gun.

"I was afraid of that."

A split-second before the agent fired, the Doctor twisted in the agents' grip. He sucked in a breath as the bullet missed its intended mark but still struck him, shattering his collarbone. Somewhere above the din of pain screaming through his body, he heard a low moan.

"You never go easy, do you, Lord Doctor?" the agent muttered, leveling the gun again.

"I don't want to go!" the Doctor snarled.

"You two, get over here. And you, stop cowering. I don't think the Lord Doctor will be going anywhere quickly now. But just to make certain."

He fired another shot, this time hitting the Doctor square in the knee. He collapsed, fighting to muzzle a screech of pain. If anyone heard and came to investigate, there would be no wondering who was responsible for their deaths. He pushed the pain away to another part of his mind, but could not stand. The agent was preparing to fire again when the whole room gave a loud groan.

"It's going to collapse!" the lead agent cried. "Get out!"

No one came to the Doctor's aid as the agents left him to scramble across the room most unsuccessfully. He got almost to the door when suddenly the floor was no longer beneath him. His breath escaped his lungs.

He'd expected the fall to be brief. Instead, it was broken only momentarily by the second floor before he and a couple hundred pounds of charred wood and brick crashed to the first floor. His legs hit first, shattering the fibula of the leg where his knee had been shot. His back hit something hard and bent quite out of shape, but didn't break. Something struck his head. He blacked out, but not for long. When he came to, dust and bits of rubble was still coming down. He tried to look around, but searing pain made it impossible to do much.

"I think he's still alive…" a distant voice said.

"Hey, you okay?!" another called.

Blindly, he groped to find a purchase and weakly pulled himself out from under some boards. He coughed painfully and noticed in the corner of his eye that one person was daring to pick his own way through to clear a path for him.

Only one more hurdle. Just one bit at a time.

A hand on his shoulder.

"Listen, emergency crews are on their way; they can get you out safely, all right?" a man said. "Just lie-whoa, what…holy crap, man, what's happening to your face?"

He glanced at his hand, struggling to focus. Regeneration…Yes, that's it. Clarity returned for just a moment and he pushed harder to get out of the wreckage.

"Hey, man, obviously you're a Gallifreyan, but what is _this?_" the same man asked, freaking out. "Is this that regeneration thing they tell us about?"

"Out of the way!" a new voice commanded.

By now the Doctor had made it to the sidewalk. A strong arm came under him and helped him to a wall he could lean against. The strong arm left and he lifted his hand, studying it curiously. It was just as well, he supposed…

"What's happening?" the human male wondered. "Is this regeneration?"

"Yes!" the strong voice replied. "But never _ever_ get close, because there will be no regeneration for you."

A small crowd had gathered—regeneration was just a word, a concept, to the humans. Only about half believed it could be done, and fewer still had actually witnessed it. There was only one other recorded incident of public regeneration.

But that was all moot now. The Doctor convulsed, nearly doubling-over. His could feel his insides turning, heaving, repairing the damage. It almost seemed like he was being filled with quick-dry concrete. He glanced at the strong man, another Time Lord, who was keeping back the crowd. The man glanced at him.

"I don't want to go," the Doctor whispered.

The Time Lord gave him a sympathetic look and replied, "I know."

Then it seized him. Somewhere, in a distant time and space, a crowd jumped and gasped. But in the here and now, he was in the heart of pain, a heart so dark it was like a white, empty nothingness. He could feel bones cracking, moving into place, shifting like a loosely-woven basket. His knee came together and mended while bone fragments in his leg melted back together. His collarbone cracked into place like nothing. He let out a cry as the bones in his face started moving, softening like putty and stuffed into a new mold. Then, if such a thing could be possible, the pain increased and he was almost removed from his body completely. He was dying. Yes, he tried to regenerate, had almost gotten there…but it failed. This time it really failed. He wished he could thank the Time Lord who'd tried to help him. Help him? Do what? He couldn't remember. He was dying…he was dying…he was…

* * *

He collapsed to the ground, exhausted. What the-? Oh, what just happened? He couldn't remember, it was all fuzzy. But, this was certainly not the body he'd woken up with. He sat back on his rump and did and inventory.

"Legs!" he cried. "I've still got legs!" He laughed once and kissed each one in turn, patting his knee now recovered. "Arms, hands-ooh! Fingers, lots of fingers! Ears, yes. Eyes, two. Nose…eh, I've had worse. Chin. Blimey! Hair." He ran his hands through his hair. It was long! "I'm a girl!" he cried, his voice cracking. He felt his throat and did another check. "No, no, I'm not a girl." He pulled his bangs down over his eyes. "And still—not—ginger! Something else, something important. I'm-I'm-crashing! Haha! Geronimo!" He stood and whirled. He looked up at the spot where his office used to be. "Blimey, that was a drop, wasn't it?"

"Are you all right?" the strong voice of the other Time Lord inquired.

The Doctor looked at him and regarded him curiously. "Can I have an apple? All I can think about. Apples. I love apples." He laughed once. "Maybe I'm having a craving." He furrowed his brows. "That's new. Never had cravings before." He blinked. "Who are you, anyway?"

They touched minds.

"Weaver!"

"Doctor!"

They embraced awkwardly. When they broke, the Doctor stumbled back, saved from falling only by the Weaver.

"Right then," the Doctor said. "Hungry. Hunger demands food. What is there to eat around here anyway? I think there's a little café down here I like. You think I'll like it now? I think we should try it out."

"Well then, come along, Doctor."

The Doctor made a dramatic motion as if to walk, but instead succeeded only in turning and walking straight into the remains of a brick wall. He fell.

"Early days," he muttered. "Steering's a bit off."

The Weaver helped him to his feet and put one arm around the Doctor to steady him as they headed down the street, leaving the crowd of people gaping and gasping in awe. And leaving four furious agents seething quietly in the shadows.


	6. A Life and a Death

"The building collapsed, Lord President," the lead agent reported ruefully. "And the Doctor regenerated."

Rassilon tapped a finger irritably on the table. "So, we can't kill him for fifteen Earth hours. Do you know how much damage he can do in just one? The agents from the Asylum report he's visited the Master; I'm heading there now. If the Master told him anything, and his clever little brain works out the details, we're finished."

"I assure you, Lord President, he won't-"

"Oh, but he will." Rassilon moved purposefully toward the agent. "The Doctor has left a trail of death and ruin in his wake as he romped through space and time unattended, deserting us in the direst of times. He is a clever man, sir, very clever."

"What would you have us do, Lord President?"

"Nothing. I'm demoting you and your team to scribe duties in the Archives deep in the Vault. You will spend the next twenty years recording in dusty ledgers and books. _I_ will pay a visit to the Asylum first, then see to the Doctor myself. Dismissed."

The agent opened his mouth to protest, but nothing good could come from it. Instead, all he said was, "Yes, Lord President."

* * *

"So, apples are rubbish, yogurt is stuff with bits in, and beans are evil," the Weaver sighed, leaning back in the chair in the outdoor dining area of the little café. "Is there anything you can eat now?"

"It's got to be…tasty, delicious. Something bland but with a subtle under-flavor. Is that a word? Under-flavor? And it needs another over-flavor." He grinned. "I love making up words. Aha! I know!" He motioned for the waitress who, weary from so many trips to their table, couldn't hold her smile much longer.

A moment later, the Doctor was munching happily on fish fingers and custard while the Weaver and several admiring humans watched from a distance. One had a video camera and had been taping since the building collapsed.

"Well, Doctor, what were you doing in that building anyway?" the Weaver asked after a moment.

"Um…searching. Searching for papers, for answers, for something that would help me-ah!" He clutched at his chest with a glowing hand and gritted his teeth. He sucked in a quick breath and, as he relaxed, expelled a bit of regenerative energy. A light breeze took the wisps from his hands. He took a shaky breath and leaned back in the chair. "Ah, today has been quite exciting."

"Yes, but what were you actually doing? What were you looking for? Answers to what?"

"Ah, Weaver, always so persistent and questioning everything. Oh, so different from…Yes, that's right. The CIA…and then…oh, yes! I'm going to need-Oi! Is that me?!"

The Doctor stood suddenly and went to the window where he'd caught sight of his reflection. He played with his hair a bit and did a full inspection of his face. "Blimey…" He tugged at his long duster, then his jacket and tie and slacks, all dirty and torn since the fall. "This…this is ridiculous." He turned and headed out from the café down the street to the clothier. "Come on, Weaver! I can't be seen in the Capitol looking like this!"

* * *

The doctor pulled the sheet over the boy's face and looked at the detective.

"I'm sorry, Detective Brooks. It was too little too late."

"Of course," Brooks sighed. "Thank you, doctor."

The nurse, Rory, took Kyle's body away, leaving the detective alone with the doctor in the room.

"Everything is in order, then?" Brooks wondered.

"Of course, detective."

"Good. Excuse me, I have to make a call."

* * *

The Doctor turned this way and that, admiring the blazer from all angles while the Weaver and the small human posse looked on.

"You look good, Doctor," a female voice said.

"Romana!" he cried, seeing her in the mirror. "How did you know it was me?"

She turned and pretended to look through a nearby rack of clothes. She spoke in the Modern Gallifreyan of the Omegabet. "Word got around fast that you'd regenerated. And, since the first hours are the most exciting, discovering who you are all over again, it wasn't hard to find you."

"Funny, I don't remember sending out a message that I'd regenerated," the Doctor replied snidely, also in Modern. "Unless you're referring to the CIA agents you sent after me."

"CIA?" the Weaver echoed.

"I didn't send any CIA agents after you," Romana said, stopping her pretend search and facing the Doctor. "When did this happen?"

"Not two hours ago, four agents cornered me in my office and tried to kill me. Or if not kill, greatly intimidate. The building collapsed. I didn't know what happened to them, but I suppose they escaped. Rassilon can't be happy."

"He was raging mad last I saw him, but I didn't dare ask why."

"Are you sure you don't know anything about it?"

"I didn't send them after you."

"But you know why they were sent."

"As you said, to intimidate or kill."

The Doctor gave her a look and switched to Old High and said precisely, "You know why."

Romana frowned. "Yes, I know why."

"Care to tell?"

"No."

"Pity," the Doctor sighed in English. "But, tell me honestly, what do you think of this suit?"

"Elbow patches are so fifty years ago. And the bow tie is ridiculous."

"No, it's cool. Bow ties are cool." He waved the tailor over. "I love it; I'll take it."

* * *

Time didn't mean much to Gallifreyans or Time Lords, and even less to the residents of the Asylum. It could have been ten minutes or ten years since the Doctor's visit before the door slid open again. The Master didn't even look up from his magazine.

"Lord Master!"

Any other Gallifreyan would have leapt to his feet at the sight or sound of the Lord President. The Master merely gave him a cat's glance and slowly sat up, finishing the sentence he was reading, and set the magazine aside.

"How kind of you to remember me locked up down here," he said flatly.

"The Doctor visited you; what did he want?" Rassilon demanded.

"To catch up," the Master informed him sarcastically. "What do you think he wanted?"

"And did you tell him?"

"He has about as much to offer me as you do in exchange for my brilliance." The inmate stood and approached the barrier. "Nothing. The only difference between the two of you, is that he actually has a shot at delivering."

Rassilon glared at him. "If lowering this barrier did not practically guarantee your escape, I would drop it and strangle you. All of you."

"Why not hang me like the Cardinals used to do to themselves to get rid of their regenerations?"

"What did you tell the Doctor?"

"As I said, nothing."

"I don't believe you."

The Master grinned evilly. "So drop the barrier and touch minds with me. Search my memory."

"I will not."

The Master stepped back and spread his arms. "Then you have only my word." He turned and went back to lie on the couch with his magazine. "And I have only this infernal magazine."

"If he visits you again, you can be certain you will die, regardless if you told him anything. And since you asked, it might just be death by hanging."

* * *

The human posse had dispersed after the clothier, mostly due to the efforts of the Weaver. His ninth regeneration, he was a large, intimidating fellow, but with the hearts of someone meek and mild. He walked down the street on the Doctor's left, while Romana was on his right. They spoke in Modern Omegabet Gallifreyan.

"So, what's all this about the CIA and the Consulate?" the Weaver asked. "I thought it was just some annoying human kids trying to start something."

"They were annoying human kids trying to start something," the Doctor told him. "And they would be _just_ that if Rassilon hadn't paid them off. I think—in fact, I know it has something to do with his pure consciousness scheme."

"Romana?" the Weaver wondered. "You're head of the Justice Department; surely you know something."

"Why do you want to get involved?" she said evasively. "The CIA already tried and failed to kill him; why risk yourself for this?"

"So there is something to it," the Doctor stated. "What exactly is _this_, Romana?"

She sighed. "Yes, it is part of another consciousness scheme."

"He has the technology and the willpower to do it, and the heartslessness to destroy the Universe. Why go through this elaborate plan?"

Romana put a hand out and stopped them. She turned to the Doctor. "He certainly does have the heartslessness, but let's just say…he's seen the light. He has a new perspective on things. His goal hasn't changed, just his plans."

"And you can't speak of them. Why? What's Rassilon holding over you? What aren't you telling me?" The Doctor reached for her, to mind-touch, but she slapped him away.

"Well, if you will excuse me, Doctor," the Weaver said. "I have business of my own to take care of."

"Of course, Weaver. Take care, and thank you for the help."

The Weaver nodded graciously and went on his way. The Doctor turned back to Romana.

"So, no one else is around. And even if they were, they wouldn't understand us. Now then, are you going to tell me what's _really_ going on?" Romana wouldn't budge. "Tell me what Rassilon has on you and I can fix it."

"You're no doctor of medicine, that much is certain. What remains to be seen if you can be a doctor of anything."

"What is that supposed to mean? Stop evading the question, Romana."

"I have nothing to say to you, Doctor. And especially not in front of your detective friend."

They looked down the street where Detective Brooks was hurrying up the sidewalk. He glanced at Romana and slowed. He did a mock bow and didn't even look at the Doctor.

"Lad-er-Lord Romana," the detective said. "I've just come from the Consulate, or what remains of it. You know it collapsed?"

"Of course I do!" she snapped. "Why wouldn't I? And what about transferring the boy into our custody, hm? When is that to be arranged?"

"Actually, I'm out and about looking for the Doctor about that."

"Hello," the Doctor said, giving a little wave.

"Sir?" Brooks questioned.

"I, well, _caused_ the Consulate to collapse you might say. And then I…regenerated! Hello."

"And you dressed in that ridiculous suit and bow tie?"

Again, he was amazed at the small-mindedness of the human race. Still, he replied, "It's cool; bow ties are cool." He gasped suddenly and put a hand to his abdomen. He exhaled another breath of energy, his near-last if he was any judge of regeneration. "Today has been most exciting. Now then, what is it you wanted to tell me about Kyle? Is he all right?"

"I'm sorry, Doctor, but Kyle is dead."

Romana lifted her chin. "Do you have others in custody, or any leads? Gallifrey demands justice, detective."

"Justice indeed," the Doctor cut in. "I'm sorry to hear that, Detective Brooks."

"What killed him?" Romana demanded.

Brooks met her gaze steadily. "A drug overdose."

"Was he 'shooting up' as you say while in jail?"

"Certainly not. It may have been a long time coming."

"Oh? Why does an twenty year old addict of three years die and a sixty year old addict of forty years only recently clean recover?"

"I can't answer that."

"Your minds are so tiny," Romana said, giving the detective a look. "How is it that anyone on this rock has multiple personalities? You barely have room for yourselves, never mind two or more. In all the traveling I've done, humans have to be some of the stupidest!"

"That's quite enough, Lord Romana!" the Doctor barked. "By the gods, what's gotten into you? Go, run back to Rassilon." He cut her off as she tried to speak. "Now!"

She searched his eyes and moved to push past him. Instead of going immediately, she whispered, "If the spring comes and flowers blossom, I must hurry and leave."

"Why don't you leave now?" the Doctor hissed.

"Everything all right?" Brooks wondered as Romana left them.

"Fine." He led the detective back down the street. "Now then, what other leads do you have?"

"Only the name Sam, but we really have nothing. Unless you have leads of your own, this case might just go unresolved. I mean, we'll probably get the riot perpetrators eventually, on drug charges. But on the murders, we don't have much. Nothing. And Rassilon…"

"If the spring comes…" the Doctor mused.

"What about spring?"

Something clicked in the Doctor's mind. He patted the detective on the shoulder twice even as he was hurrying away. "I may have a sudden breakthrough, detective! I'll be returning with help, I promise!"


	7. When the Spring Comes

**This is a polite note to people who love to get all over me (and I suspect others) about absolute perfection regarding continuity, character, and some details: I know. I know not everything is 100% and I'm sorry it is not up to your standards. I do try to keep it in line, but with regards to the whole point of the site, it is yet my story. And it can't be that bad since you continue to read.**

**I appreciate being made aware of everything I get wrong, but some of it is done intentionally. I write only to entertain and to pass the time. With fanfic, I write and don't look back. So if it please you, hold on and enjoy the ride.**

* * *

The Master did not stir in the least as the Doctor entered the cell. He lay on the couch, one hand on his stomach, the other across his face.

"He hasn't visited," he groaned. "Haven't you done enough?"

"No, I haven't done quite enough. But I have a feeling I'm about to make a breakthrough."

The Master lifted his hand and looked at the Doctor. Part of his face was black and blue and his eye was swollen shut. "Doctor?"

The Doctor darted forward and plastered himself against the barrier. "Koschei! What happened?!"

"Ah, so they got you too, eh, Theta?"

"Did the CIA do this to you?"

"They struck quickly and too many. I hate to admit it, but I was taken by surprise. They were gone before I could get off the couch and left me like this. Actually, they left me a lot worse." He sat up. "But they say misery loves company. And it seems I find myself in the company of a twelve year old wearing a bow tie."

The Doctor took a step back from the barrier and put a hand defensively to his bow tie. "It's cool."

"What do you want, Doctor?"

"I'm here to spring you."

"Oh, good. Rassilon already told me he would execute me if you returned. At least I'll go down fighting." He stood and walked to the barrier. Already his bruises were healing. "What's in it for you?"

"I stop Rassilon, remove him from leadership—"

"Inserting yourself, no doubt."

"—remove him from leadership," the Doctor repeated, "strip him of his immortality, and force him to quiet the drums."

The last bit got the Master's attention. "You would quiet the drums?"

"Rassilon planted them in your mind; there must be a way to uproot them."

"But only if I help you."

"The only other option is to help him."

"Oh, no, Doctor. I could always choose to help myself."

"Helping me is helping yourself in this case, Lord Master. You want the drums gone, so you have to go after Rassilon. I'm trying to prevent a universal catastrophe, so I have to go after Rassilon. Why not help me?"

"The drums get removed, I am restored to my rightful place in the Capitol."

"I promise."

"And what if the drums can't be quieted? What then? Are you going to lock me up in here again with Rassilon as my cellmate? Hang me as many times as it takes before I am finally and fully dead?"

"I don't know. But I can promise that I will try my absolute hardest to end this plague."

By now the Master's bruises were almost gone and his eye had opened. "You make a lot of promises, Theta Sigma, always have." He huffed. "We both know where I stand on trusting you. Now then, the CIA alerted Rassilon to your visit the instant you arrived. You're not getting out of here alive, not without me. So, how far does _your_ trust extend, _Lord Doctor?"_

* * *

Between the Doctor and the Master, it wasn't hard to open a spot big enough for the Master to slip through the cell barrier. But as they stepped out in the hall, the first thing they noticed was a group of about a dozen CIA agents running down the hall toward them.

"As I said, we go down fighting," the Master said breathily.

"No, we're not going down at all," the Doctor told him. "What we need to do is-"

But the Master had long since tuned him out. As soon as he could make out the agents' faces, he charged, screeching wildly. The agents started shooting, but the Master had not been idle in his years of lockup. He moved with the agility of a snake and the speed of a cat, getting within their firing range and taking out the agents two or three at a time. The Doctor could only watch in amazement. By the time he was through, the Master left eight unconscious and four tied up. He glanced at the Doctor, fingers curled like talons and a wild look in his eyes.

"Don't run, Koschei," the Doctor said calmly. "I understand, it's been a long time, but we have to work together. Remove Rassilon and we remove the drums. All right?"

"And what do you propose?" the Master spat.

"We'll discuss that as soon as we're safely out of here and aboard the Tardis."

"You would let me inside your precious Tardis?"

"I'm extending a lot of faith and trust in you, Koschei. Let's work together. Can we do that?"

The Master looked down the hall, toward the exit, toward freedom. The Doctor bit his lip, afraid he would bolt. In the end, however, the Master relaxed and stood down. He gave the Doctor a long look and said, "Fine, I'll help you overthrow Rassilon. On two conditions. The drums stop. And you use my name. My _true_ name."

He hated to agree, but there was little choice.

"There's a second entrance on the north side," the Master said, taking charge and leading the way through the Asylum. "That's where they take prisoners out to be executed and don't want to make a scene. It leads to a concrete yard with a concrete wall on your left side and all manner of various sentences on the right. It's only guarded if someone is being executed, so we should be all right."

"This is an asylum, not a prison," the Doctor pointed out. "And how do you know all this?"

"Tell me, Lord Doctor, do you think every cell has an inmate? No. There are only about six of us here. They've executed the rest. We've been given life sentences, so who is really going to notice if we don't walk out? I know the layout because their first torture, their first execution, is to get rid of any shred of sanity you have left before you're admitted. They take you on a tour of the Asylum as if you'll be put on some sort of activity schedule, when really you'll never see any of it again. Or that's the plan. As far as the other inmates, eventually you get in tune with the rhythms of the Asylum and you can tell."

"I see. And how do you know there won't be more agents on the north side?"

"Because they were counting on my being still safely locked behind the barrier and you not fighting back. They were primarily after you."

"Flattered, I'm sure."

They hurried as fast as they could through the corridors to the north side where, as promised, there was an exit. Also as promised, it was unguarded.

"The CIA puts too much faith in themselves and their Asylum," the Master scoffed, kicking the door open for dramatic flair. "Clearly they've underestimated me again."

"I helped you escape."

"You did nothing!" the Master snapped as they headed out of the Asylum area the back way. "I've known for years how to get out."

"So why didn't you?"

"Because my plans weren't yet ready."

The Doctor halted. "Oh? What plans were those?"

"None you need concern yourself with."

"I think maybe I should."

The Master turned. "I'm out, Doctor. I'm free."

"And you said you would help."

"And you believed me."

"Kos- Lord Master, please. Let's get aboard the Tardis and we can figure things out."

"You'll never let me in."

"Yes, I will. I promise. I promise on the same promise that the drums will be quieted. You don't have to trust me; you only have to believe me."

"Always the wordsmith, Lord Doctor, especially in Old High."

"Please, Lord Master. I can't do this without you."

"Clearly. But I can do it without you."

"If you could, you already would have."

The Master glared at the Doctor as he walked past. After a moment, he followed. "All right, so where is your Tardis?"

* * *

"You've redecorated," the Master observed sourly from where he was handcuffed to the railing near the door. "I'd love a tour."

"I only said I would let you inside," the Doctor told him. "I never said I would let you roam free."

"You ought to watch your creative wordplay, Lord _Doctor_. It may come back to haunt you."

"Hey, it's not my rule. After you tortured the poor dear-" The Doctor patted the Tardis console. "-she doesn't like you very much. She'll let you in, but that's as far as you go."

"So you say."

"At least I'm loyal to my Tardis."

The Master gave him a look. "So, what's the plan, _Doctor?"_

"I would appreciate a measure of respect, thank you. I address you as Lord Master."

"I'm already deferring to your direction; you ought to be grateful. You're lucky to have gotten this much. So then, _what's the plan?"_

The Doctor explained all that had happened since the attack on the Consulate, often having to talk over scoffs or jeers or snarky comments from the Master. He finished by saying, "I'm afraid Detective Brooks will be caught in the first line of fire, but I also think he may be able to help us."

"You brought me out here to…what? Patronize me by bringing in a _human_ for some sort of intellectual reference?"

"As long as you don't eat him, yes."

"You're going to go out of your way to save a single human when you know another war is coming?"

"Saving this human may prevent such a war."

The Master awkwardly folded his arms. "Pity that. And what then, after we rescue the human?"

"Rassilon's got something over Romana; if we can find out what it is, we can help her and she may be able to tell us what's going on."

"Now you're bringing Romana into this. So why did you spring me? Really?"

"I saved your life, Koschei. The least you can do is show some gratitude."

"The first thing I'll do when these drums stop is give you a great big hug and a sloppy wet kiss. How does that sound?"

"I'd like to save Romana, too. I would hate to see her go down because we couldn't free her from Rassilon's collar."

"Who else, Doctor?" the Master interrupted. "Who else are you going to save? Are you just going to pack them all here in the Tardis and whisk them away to safety? You can't save everyone. And whenever you try, it always ends badly. So why not abandon this futile mission now, and save yourself the heartsache?"

"I at least have to try."

"Sentiment." The Master shook his head and looked away.

"We're here," the Doctor announced. "Stay here; I'll get Brooks." He put a hand on the door.

"You're going to leave me here alone in your Tardis?"

The Doctor paused and bit his lip. He took a step back and started fishing in his pockets. "You're right. You're coming with me; I am not letting you out of my sight."

* * *

They'd materialized in the middle of the police station in an empty desk-cubicle, startling everyone. The Master stepped out first followed immediately by the Doctor.

" 'Ello," the Doctor said cheerfully. The Master merely frowned but searched the room with glittering eyes.

"We're looking for Ronnie Brooks. Anyone seen him?"

"He went to get a coffee," someone said numbly. "He should be back soon."

"Someone call me?" Brooks wondered as he entered the room with a coffee and a brown paper bag. He stopped when he saw the Tardis. "Lord Doctor," he acknowledged. "Is this the help you promised?"

"So I'm being promised now, am I?" the Master said distastefully, glaring at the Doctor.

"Yes, he is. This is the Lord Master; he's here to help. Conditionally. Want to come help?"

"Where?"

"In here."

"In your Tardis?"

"Of course."

"But that's against the law."

"Detective, right now we are the two most wanted men on Gallifrey, and pretty soon Earth. Would you like to join us?"


	8. The Master and the Lord President

**Wow, it has been a while since the last update. My apologies. So then, on with the show!**

* * *

"Why is he staying down there?" Brooks wondered as he stood back from the console while the Doctor prepared for dematerialization.

"He…has issues," the Doctor said evasively. "Got any jelly babies in that paper bag?"

" 'Fraid all I have are some M&M's, Skittles and a couple donuts."

"A man after my own hearts." Without waiting for an answer or even an offer, the Doctor took the bag and dug around until he found a raspberry-filled donut topped with strawberry icing and sprinkles. He put it in his mouth and continued working.

"So, why is he down there?" Brooks asked again. "And handcuffed? What sort of issues?"

"I'm a dangerous man, _human."_

"And rather acrimonious toward humans," the Doctor threw in around a bite of donut.

"The Doctor sprung me from Gallifrey's Asylum."

"He's crazy."

The Master leapt toward the Doctor but was hindered by the cuffs. "It is _not_ my doing! _That_ was one of our conditions!" He wiped his mouth where he was starting to foam.

"Sit down, Koschei," the Doctor said passively, taking another bite.

"_That_ was another."

_"Sit!"_

The Master met the Doctor's cold stare but eventually went as close to the doors as possible and sat down, knees drawn up, back toward them.

"He's crazy?" Brooks asked softly.

"Almost all his life, he's had drums in his head," the Doctor explained, quietly tapping out the beat one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four. "He is the single finest mind Gallifrey has never seen. But ever since his initiation into the Time Academy, ever since the drums, he was driven to insanity. All his brilliance, and he has sought to use it for evil, all to quiet the drums. Only recently did we learn that Rassilon planted the drums in his mind to be carried out of the Time War so as to free Gallifrey." The Doctor shook his head and glanced at the Master, still sitting with his back to them. "But after Gallifrey was freed, Rassilon refused to remove them, instead locking him in the Asylum with only old magazines and the drums for company."

"That sounds awful."

"He is dangerous when he's free, though. It must have taken all his strength not to bolt or cause chaos in the police station. One of his conditions when he agreed to help me is to quiet the drums."

"How can you be sure the drums aren't just in his mind? You know, like, I don't know…"

"Like schizophrenia? I thought so, too. And then he showed me the drums. They're real, Ronnie. The drums are real. And if they're real, they can be removed."

"Why not just go back and take them out?"

"It would create a paradox. Rassilon planted the drums to free Gallifrey, and here it is. Going back to remove the drums could tear Gallifrey and the whole War time-lock apart, and then there is no hope left. But they can still be removed in the present."

"Why don't you do it?"

"Rassilon planted them. He's the only one who can remove them."

"And he'll do it, on pain of death," the Master said loudly. He stood and faced them. "You talk too much, Doctor. Always talking, never taking action."

"My actions have dire consequences; you said so yourself."

"Because you rely too much on your words."

"So, where are we going?" Detective Brooks wondered cheerfully, popping a few Skittles in his mouth.

"We're going to recruit Romana," the Doctor told him.

"Forgive me for saying so, Lord Doctor, but she seems more ready to bite someone's head off than help." He stole a glance at the Master who grinned knowingly. "What makes you think she'll come along?"

"Romana can be rude, but she's not stupid. She was Lord President for over one hundred fifty years; she knows what goes on and she understands another war is not what Gallifrey needs. Rassilon's holding something over her, making her like his puppet. She's trying to send a message, get help. If we can find out what he has, we can neutralize it and recruit her. Then we can stop Rassilon."

"You make it sound so easy," Brooks commented, popping another handful of Skittles and M&M's.

"You should beware of trusting him too much, human," the Master warned. "Theta has always been a clever wordsmith."

Brooks glanced back and forth between them. "Koschei," he stated, pointing at the Master. He gave the Doctor a look. "Theta?"

"My nickname at the Academy, Theta Sigma. Not my real name."

"Another condition of me helping is that he must use my _true_ name. And every time he doesn't, I will use his other name. _Theta_. Twice."

Brooks ran his tongue over his top teeth. "Is his narcissism naturally occurring?"

Romana had been peacefully minding her own business, only on her way to get a fresh pot of tea when the Tardis materialized around her and just as quickly left the building. She nearly dropped her cup as she looked around, her gaze resting on the Doctor and the same detective who'd been at the consulate.

"Lord Doctor!" she spat. "What is this?!"

"Ah, Romana, so good of you to join us."

It wasn't the Doctor or the detective who answered her. She whirled to see the Master handcuffed to the railing near the door, dropping her teacup and flinching only slightly when it shattered.

"I was told you'd escaped," Romana hissed. She glanced over her shoulder at the Doctor. "And that you were involved."

"I would be shocked if you hadn't heard," the Doctor said casually, folding his arms and leaning back against the console. "And before you threaten me, one count of kidnapping isn't going to matter much in the face of springing the Lord Master from the Asylum, so you can skip the plea for your life."

"Maybe, but I hear you also have a couple thousand parking tickets and overdue library fines on your record."

"Those were expunged after I reset the system. But that's not what you really want to say, is it?"

"Why did you spring the Lord Master? Why is the human here? Why did you kidnap me?"

"The Lord Master is brilliant and deserves more than to be locked away in a prison. More than that, he is willing to help us as long as the drums go away."

" 'Us'? Who is 'us'?"

"Myself, the detective inspector, and you."

"Since when am I part of this rogue group? Are you becoming the Renegade Time Lord again, Lord Doctor? Do you miss those days?"

"I lived alone and afraid for centuries, Romana," the Doctor said softly. "I'm here to save Gallifrey. Why won't you help?"

"Of course I want to help, but you-"

"I didn't ask if you wanted to help, Romana. I asked why you're not."

"I am helping!" Romana snapped. "I am helping." She took a breath. "You were there right up until the very end. You missed your vote."

"Vote?"

"Rassilon put consciousness to a vote of all the Time Lords. Only two voted against it and he had them executed. But the rest of them supported it, entirely, of their own free will."

The Doctor shook his head. "Why would they do something like that?"

"Why not?" the Master wondered.

"Doctor," Romana said softly, folding her hands like she was about to impart some terrible confession. "You assume that you always have the right of things, and that everything you do is helpful. Your hearts may be in the right place, but you have to think about what's best for Gallifrey."

"Even if it means sacrificing the rest of the universe? Romana, we are charged with being the guardians, the protectors, of Time and History."

"And so we are, and how unfortunate that this is the demise of Earth."

The Doctor gave her a look. "He's in your mind, isn't he?"

"What?"

He took her head in his hands. "Rassilon, he's in your head."

"Stop it."

"He's…bound you."

"Doctor, no!"

"So this is what's going on between you."

Romana wrenched from his grip and took several steps back toward the console. The Doctor shifted his weight. "He's holding the rest of your regenerations hostage."

"But if you're going to be pure consciousness, why does that matter?" Brooks wondered.

"Because to reach pure consciousness, you still have to be alive," the Master informed him snidely. "You can't transform if you're dead."

"How did he do that?" the Doctor asked. For every step he took toward Romana, she took a step back until she hit the Tardis controls. "It's like he is continuously linked with you and can snap your life at any moment. How is this done?"

"The same way he planted Koschei's drums," Romana spat, giving the Master a pointed look. "And there is nothing you can do, Lord Doctor. Only Rassilon can help either of us."

"But he's not likely to do that," Brooks commented dryly, popping a few M&Ms. "So it looks like it's just you and me, eh, Doctor?"

"No," the Doctor said surprisingly. "No, I don't believe that."

"Well you better, because it's true," Romana growled.

"It may be true now, but it can change. Rassilon planted the Master's drums and left, sealing them in. But this is an open link between you and Rassilon. If I can shut down the link-"

"He would kill you!" the Master hissed.

"I am still within the first fifteen hours of regeneration."

"That doesn't matter," Romana told him. "He can kill you as easily as he granted himself immortality, fifteen hours or not."

"So he's the one who put the doors in Kyle's mind," Brooks threw in. "He's the one with superior telepathic abilities."

"Doesn't matter now," Romana said. "Since he's dead."

"But is anyone a match for Rassilon?"

"Only if they're wearing a mirror."

"No, I mean mentally, telepathically."

"Detective, Rassilon suspended his consciousness inside a micro-universe that was suspended inside another universe. You think anyone could match that, _even remotely?"_ the Doctor wondered blandly.

"I can," the Master stated.

"Koschei, I know you have a high opinion of yourself-"

"I sealed myself in my ring to be later resurrected."

"On the same principles of having your anatomy rewritten and your identity locked away in a fob watch. It's not the same."

"It's close enough!" the Master snarled. "I can match him! I am more powerful than you, aren't I?!"

"Yes, but-"

"Uncuff me!" The Master was wild-eyed and turning a distinct shade of purple.

"Doctor, if I may," Brooks said tentatively. "I don't think it's you he's after, but Rassilon."

"Yes, but he has to go through me to get to him," Romana said warily. "And I doubt his motives are so pure as yours, Doctor."

"Lord Master, you will help Romana. Go after Rassilon but leave her alone," the Doctor commanded solidly.

"He is _not_ touching my mind!" Romana protested, taking a step back. "Or any part of me for that matter. This is absurd!"

"Let him help you."

"Let him help you," the Master mimicked.

"Shut up!" the Doctor snapped. "Romana, let him help you; he can break Rassilon's hold!"

"Ah, so you do think I have the ability to match him?"

Ronnie leaned against the railing, munching on what was left in his goodie bag, watching the Time Lords with comic fascination. Really it was like being a kid and visiting a friend, then sitting back awkwardly as the friend was yelled at by his parents.

The Doctor managed to get everyone quiet and try to reason with the Master and Romana, but neither would have anything to do with the other. Ronnie frowned and popper the last few M&Ms in his mouth.

"See, what I can't figure out is," he began around the candy, "if Rassilon can kill you at any time, why not now? He has to know you're gone."

"He has a point," the Doctor commented. "Is Rassilon aware of what goes on at all times?"

"Yes," Romana replied grudgingly. "And I can feel him always in the back of my mind. He sees us. He challenges you, Lord Master. He wants to see just how powerful you really are. And he wants you, Lord Doctor, to shut up and watch."

The Master glanced at the Doctor. "And who are we to disobey the Lord President?"

Sighing, the Doctor nodded and looked at Romana. "Your call, Lord Romana."

Romana gave them both a look but went to stand before the Master. "You get him out, then you get out. I won't have you sneaking around my mind."

"What is it we're supposed to say?" the Master wondered snidely as they knelt so he could put his hands to Romana. "Just imagine a door? Well, I'm imagining a door right now, the big iron one you sentenced me to live behind."

"Rassilon sentenced you."

"And you carried it out."

"With great satisfaction."

"Please," the Doctor said, still standing. "Just get it over with."

"Nervous, Theta? You should be."

That was where the conversation ended. The Doctor leaned against the Tardis console, arms folded. Ronnie went to stand beside him, offering up half a donut which the Time Lord took.

If anything could be sensed from the exchange, Ronnie didn't pick up on any of it. To his eyes, it was just Romana and the Master kneeling opposite each other, his hands on the side of her face, both having eyes closed.

He and the Doctor jumped when the Master and Romana gasped and fell backward, almost simultaneously. The Master lay on his back, gasping for breath while Romana sat up and hurriedly and vainly tried to scoot away, wild-eyed. The Doctor ran to them, first to the Master. Ronnie took a few steps, then realized he had nothing to offer.

"Koschei!" the Doctor cried. "Koschei, can you hear me? Are you all right?"

"Fine," the Master whispered, eyes still closed, waving his hand wistfully. "Now go away."

The Doctor turned to Romana who sat against the opposite railing. She opened her eyes as the Doctor went to her.

"The drums, Doctor. The drums," she whispered.

"Did Rassilon give them to you, too?" he asked fearfully, hearts dropping.

"He tried. Lord Master did fight him off, though. He's gone from my mind."

"Oh, good." The Doctor's head dropped like he wanted to collapse with relief.

"I'll help you, Doctor," Romana said.

The Master sat up blearily and the Doctor raised his head to look her in the eye. He searched her expression but found only sincerity.

"I will help," she repeated. She glanced at the Master. "And I will see to it that your drums are removed."


End file.
